Choices
by autumn midnights
Summary: 'Maybe it's enough that they've lived through the same things.' Romilda Vane, and the decisions through the years that bring her to where she is now. Primarily DH/post-DH era. Femslash.


_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter; all rights go to JKR. _

* * *

It's a stupid thing to do, but she's fourteen, and when are fourteen-year-olds known for making good decisions?

Looking back, Romilda cringes at the entire idea of Love Potions, because screwing with people's minds is decidedly not okay, but at the time, she doesn't think it's _that _bad. She just wants Harry to notice her, really - an initial infatuation, which would eventually wear off anyway, but that could lead to something real if he would actually sit down and have a conversation with her. She would never keep dosing him with the potion - even at fourteen she realizes that's gross. It would only be this once. One time, to get everything started.

It isn't even her Love Potion, technically; Vicky Frobisher is the one who bought a Love Pack from the Weasleys' joke shop, and the potion is just one of the items in there. Romilda's crush on Harry comes up in conversation a lot, as is natural for adolescent girls, and Vicky jokingly mentions using the Love Potion on him. Romilda considers it, Vicky eggs her on, Demelza rolls her eyes at both of them but doesn't protest - and then Romilda actually does it. Chocolate Cauldrons from Honeydukes provide the perfect delivery method; she pushes them into Harry's hands near Christmas, casually mentions Slughorn's Christmas party to plant the seed of Romilda-and-Harry, and then it's done.

Nothing ever comes of it. He never acknowledges her any more than he did before, and later that very year he passionately kisses Ginny Weasley after a Quidditch match. She's sad about it, but if he made up his mind, there's nothing that she can do. Besides, who could hope to compete with Ginny - that fiery red hair, equally fiery spirit to match?

(And a small part of her wonders, as the months progress - which one of them is she actually jealous of?)

* * *

She's fifteen, and maybe joining the D.A. is a dumb decision, but if it is, then most of the older students are dumb, and at least she's not alone. So at the beginning of the year, she hears whispers about the D.A. forming again, asks Ginny directly - because of course Ginny's involved - and shows up to the first meeting.

She's not the only new recruit; it's at least twice as large as the first one. The Carrows are much worse than Umbridge, after all, and the registration of Muggle-borns - of _friends _\- just adds insult to injury. Everyone is furious, all the time, and Romilda is no exception.

They do a brief round of introductions, but nobody wastes time with icebreakers; they devote a brief period of time to discuss spray-painting 'Dumbledore's Army: Still Recruiting' at various locations around the school, and then they get right into practicing Stunning Spells. Romilda ends up with a seventh-year Ravenclaw, Morag MacDougal, that she's only ever seen in passing.

"Were you part of the D.A. before?" Romilda asks when they catch their breath for a moment.

"No," Morag says. "That's why I am now. It's time to fight back." The undertone in her voice is clear - she didn't fight back before, against Umbridge, against the slow-building disaster of the past few years. Romilda understands. She was only a child when all of this started, when Harry Potter returned from the Third Task screaming about You-Know-Who. Maybe some people would still consider her a child, even now.

She doesn't feel like a child two months later, when the Carrows catch her returning to the dormitory after curfew and give her a detention, and she - like so many others that year - feels the burn of the Cruciatus for a dumb, minor offense. There is no childhood left after that.

* * *

She's nearly sixteen, and she joins the couple dozen underage students sneaking back to Hogwarts to fight the Death Eaters. It's a dangerous decision, but it's one that the entire year has been leading up to. In that moment, it doesn't even feel like a decision - because of _course _she would go back and fight. It isn't even a question.

It's not just defending Hogwarts, or striking back against the Death Eaters, although those are large chunks of her motivation. It's also because her friends, the people that she's spent the past year building this fierce sense of camaraderie with, are all there, and she thinks she would feel guilty for the rest of her life if she isn't alongside them.

It's a chaotic melee, a lack of order and strategy on both sides, and it's not nearly as clean as the D.A.'s makeshift duels in the Room of Requirement. Romilda sees Michael Corner, who had spent over forty-eight hours locked in the dungeons only a few months prior, use the Imperius to make a Death Eater hurl himself off a balcony. He sees her watching; his mouth presses into a thin line, and he says, "Don't hold back."

She sees Su Li fall under a Death Eater's wand, sees Morag MacDougal scream in sorrow and rage and envelop the Death Eater in a flash of green light. Morag runs and cradles Su's body, her tall frame heaving with sobs, the frantic surroundings forgotten. Her grief doesn't stop another Death Eater rounding the corner, raising his wand at her, a look of glee on his face at the easy target -

And the first thing that comes to Romilda's tongue is a Blasting Curse, and the walls are splattered with skin and blood.

Morag looks up, and her cheeks are streaked with tears, and she takes Romilda's hand and heads back into the frenzy with fire in her eyes.

* * *

She's eighteen, and joining the Auror Department seems like a natural decision.

They had extended an offer of acceptance to all the students who had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts, but it was conditional; those who were still underage, like Romilda, had to complete their education first. Going back to Hogwarts after everything wasn't easy, but she managed, and now here she is, surrounded by familiar faces.

Romilda can't think of anything she would want to do besides this. She's seen too much, lived through too much, and mundane things seem trivial now. Her mother had offered to get her a position at Madam Malkin's, since the two of them were good friends, but Romilda had scoffed at the idea when it was introduced. She would have felt utterly ridiculous, and also almost worthless - like everything she'd been through meant nothing, because here she was, taking measurements. At least the Auror Department made her feel useful. Because there, being jumpy and distrustful and full of restless energy wasn't necessarily a bad thing - they were traits that could be beneficial in law enforcement.

And maybe the Ministry was taking advantage of all of these screwed up kids, roping them into a dangerous career, but honestly, Romilda's pretty sure none of them care, because at least it's giving them a purpose.

She sees Morag there, in the robes of a more advanced trainee, and they meet eyes. _I killed a man for you, _Romilda thinks. She walks over; they haven't seen each other since that fateful May.

"How've you been?" Romilda asks.

Morag shrugs. "I'm here, at least," she says. "Which is arguably because of you. I don't think I ever thanked you for saving my life back then."

"It's nothing." Romilda feels a bit of color rise in her cheeks.

"I'm grateful," Morag says. "And I've got to run, but maybe sometime, let me at least buy you a drink."

"It's a date," Romilda jokes, and Morag smiles before she dashes off.

* * *

She's nineteen, and she thinks it's the best decision she ever made.

Morag's flat is small, but her bed is new and luxurious and huge, and that's probably why it was so easy for Morag to doze off right after. Romilda watches her for a moment. In sleep, Morag looks peaceful; the darkness behind her eyes, present in all the survivors, is hidden, the tension in the way she holds herself gone, relaxed. She has a few scars, on her collarbone and shoulders - marks of a particularly harsh detention from the Carrows. Normally hidden by robes, they peek out above the blanket, a reminder of that awful time.

It will never go away. There's no way to forget what happened, eight solid months of pain and terror that came to a head on May 2nd, which added seeing people die and killing a man to the list of horrors. There are still nights where Dreamless Sleep Potion is a necessity, still nights where other vices are indulged; there's always at least one bottle of Firewhiskey in the cupboard.

She'll never forget. She'll never be completely fine, but maybe that doesn't have to be the goal. Maybe it's enough that they understand each other, that they can be there for each other on those days when things seem completely overwhelming. Maybe it's enough that they've lived through the same things.

_Maybe it's enough that I think I love her, _Romilda thinks, and she's able to drift off to sleep as well, holding Morag in her arms.

* * *

_A/N: I've written MoragRomilda before, but always from Morag's PoV; exploring Romilda's side of the story a little more was really fun for me! This fits in with my overall headcanon for them. And of course, I had to throw in some DH-induced angst, because we all know how much I love DH era and the fallout from that time. I haven't written this pair in a while, but I had this little plot bunny, so I had to give in! _

_If you liked this, please leave a review! _


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